


and the sun wields mercy

by softaehyungies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Growing Up Together, I Blame Tumblr, I wrote this instead of studying, Overuse of Metaphors, Sibling Rivalry, sibling feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softaehyungies/pseuds/softaehyungies
Summary: Atsumu didn’t remember when the sun came into the world.But of course, he wouldn’t remember his brother’s birth.





	and the sun wields mercy

**Author's Note:**

> based on this: https://www.reddit.com/r/tumblr/comments/6ji2rk/he_looked_at_her_like_she_was_the_sun/
> 
> i'm finally attempting to catch up on the manga (and right before my exams rip) and chapter 279 got me weepin, hope karasuno wins anyway, hope my two hours churning this out wont go to waste, etc etc. 
> 
> i hope this is acceptable and wont offend anyone because i dont have any siblings myself, if youre bothered by something leave a comment or message me on tumblr at @sporkpotato; i stan semi eita (and basically everyone) 2k18, boi is suffering

_Sunrise_

Atsumu didn’t remember when the sun came into the world. 

But of course, he wouldn’t remember his brother’s birth. 

He wouldn’t remember those congratulations, his grandmother’s tears. ‘Osamu,’ she whispers, gently against the baby’s hair, as not to wake him. ‘And Atsumu,’ she turns toward the other twin, sleeping in the crook of her arm. He stirs. 

-  
_Morning_

‘’Tsumu, I wanna spike.’ words crash to the floor, eyes fixed on the guy with the cool foreign name- Aran. Atsumu looks up at his brother and squints- Osamu is standing under the lights in the gymnasium where they hold the volleyball workshops, and it makes his hair glow. 

‘Why?’ 

‘It’s cool.’ he shrugs. Not passion, not heat.

Atsumu waits for an explanation, but it doesn’t come. ‘Setters are cooler.’ he should get up, join the rest of the kids. 

Osamu shrugs again, and walks off where the coach is standing, blowing his whistle. His hair still glaringly bright. 

Atsumu wipes his hand across his mouth, puts down his bottle and runs after him. He can’t afford to fall behind, not now. 

-  
_Noon_

Ba-bam. Ba-bam. 

Eight clean spikes in a row- Atsumu wrinkles his nose in disgust. He supposed he should blame himself- he was the one who insisted on utilizing the strengths of the spikers. That Osamu and all the other spikers had to do their very best, score and score with all the tosses he sends them. 

He tells himself that this isn’t jealousy. Atsumu has worked himself into a supernova, where he is not only the official setter for the team, but is spoken of with respect and researched before matches. He is a star, where they have an entire cheer for him at Inarizaki. 

But every time he thinks he’s done it, that he would be the Miya going down in history, Osamu is there. Osamu is just there, burning steadily, quietly. Not loud, because that’s not what he is. He helps old ladies across the street and plays with the little girl next door. Not like Atsumu at all, with the ‘personality like sewage water’. An all-rounder, just as capable of setting as he is in spiking. 

Atsumu feels sick to his stomach. 

‘Well, look who’s just absolutely frisky today,’ he calls across the court during morning practice. ‘Who can’t help hitting perfect spikes today.’ 

He keeps taunting, pushing- those who didn’t know him very well would brush it off as brotherly teasing, it’s no big deal- but Suna glances at him once or twice, and Osamu-

Osamu looks defeated. His light sputtering out. 

For a fleeting, frightening moment- Atsumu wants to go over to Osamu, serve a ball to his face, crush those spiker hands under his setter fingers, latch on to him and never let go. 

Then the moment is gone, and Atsumu turns away. 

-  
_Raining_

The autumn leaves are red. Kita is terrifying. Volleyball is awesome, and Osamu is having an off day.

He doesn’t seem to be in the game, his mind drifting somewhere else. And it must be the way he half-assed all his spikes, because all of a sudden, Atsumu is really, really mad. 

‘You piece of shit.’ 

He doesn’t say it very loudly, but it’s loud enough that Suna turns with bored eyes, Ginjima’s eyebrows raise and Osamu stiffens. 

‘Is it my tosses?’ he asks. He doesn’t expect an answer, but he asks anyway. When Osamu meets his eyes, he continues; ‘If it isn’t, then why can’t you hit them?’ 

Osamu looks tired, so tired. ‘‘Tsumu, I stood in the rain all last night waiting for you-’ 

Atsumu barrels on, ‘No, don’t ‘Tsumu me like we’re ten again, is it my tosses?’ Jesus, he feels a migraine coming up, every time he decides he likes his twin, he pulls some crap like this-

Osamu grits his teeth, and the words are thrown to the floor of the gym this time, cracking the floorboards. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it, always about you-’ He squeezes his eyes together, and when he opens them, there is something carnal and wild in them. 

He grips the volleyball until his knuckles turn white. ‘Fuck!’ he shouts, flinging it across the gym and running out, slamming the door behind him. 

His teammates turn to him, faces horrified. Suna’s speaks volumes.

_What have you done this time?_

Atsumu doesn’t know either. 

-  
_Sunset_

‘You’re really leaving.’ Atsumu sits on the bed, numb. 

‘Mhm.’ No words from Osamu, crouched on the floor in their room. Kept in his mouth and staying there, happy. 

‘Why?’ and god, if it isn’t painful. If it isn’t painful, like how Atsumu had asked him why he wanted to be a spiker, all those years ago. The first time they were distinctively Atsumu and Osamu, not _Atsumu-and-Osamu_.

Osamu hums around his popsicle. Atsumu had had one as well, but Osamu always ate them much more slowly; like he was melting them instead of eating. 

‘I guessed I wanted a change.’ Osamu looks up from packing his bag, flipping his light brown bangs out of his eyes. He’s wearing black, just like their volleyball uniform. It dampens him somehow. 

‘Why?’ this time, Atsumu isn’t dropping it.

Neither is Osamu. ‘I want to…’ he trails off thoughtfully, holding the eye contact. Even like this, here, the electricity between them is palpable. 

But it had always been Osamu, the sun, hadn’t it? Atsumu was the flame, that could burn out and was unpredictable. He was black and white. Either burning down whole cities and worlds in his wake or burning merrily in a fireplace, bringing joy to countless households.

Osamu- Osamu was the sun, steadfast and quiet. Atsumu complained about him when he went out and was raining, but he would always come back blazing. And then, Atsumu would be frustrated, despising him for being too great, too bright. Now Osamu is leaving, touching the horizon, saluting gallantly, pink and orange and blue and indigo and yellow and crimson trailing from his fingers. 

Atsumu wonders how he’s never seen him before. 

‘I want to make something beautiful on my own.’ he says finally, setting the words gently down onto the floor, presenting them before Atsumu in peace.

‘You already have,’ Atsumu blurts out. ‘Stay, 'Samu.’ 

Osamu doesn’t reply, but he’s not shutting off either. Instead, his eyes smile. ‘What, ‘Tsumu, you’re gonna miss me?’ 

‘Yes.’ And after all these years, of playing volleyball and lying and being lost; it’s gratifying. 

Osamu actually laughs a little, at that. ‘I’m just going off to college. I’ll come back for the holidays.’ Still reassuring, despite all that Atsumu’s done. 

‘On your own?’ Atsumu can’t help echoing what he said earlier.

And Osamu knows exactly what he means, the bastard. The sun. ‘Yes, on my own.’

‘We’re the same, but entirely different, ‘Tsumu.’

They don’t hug, and they don’t share those sibling bonding moments where they look at old photos. Maybe one day they will, but for now, for now- they will have to go their separate ways to find out. 

And without his sun, Atsumu knows for the first time in his life, he’ll have to create his own. 

 

- _Fin_ -

**Author's Note:**

> look potato is literally physically incapable of writing more than 1k and stuff other than cliche overused metaphors


End file.
